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The Personal Side of a Presidential Election

By Jennifer Close January 24, 2013 12:20 pmJanuary 24, 2013 12:20 pm

Townies is a series about life in New York, and occasionally other cities.

It wasn’t my choice to move to D.C. When people ask (as they always do), “What brought you here?” my response is the same. I shake my head, roll my eyes, and say, “my husband’s job.” If Tim is standing next to me, I’ll point at him, or pat his back and smile, to remind him how lucky he is that I followed him here. The message I’m trying to get across is clear: if it weren’t for my husband, I’d leave in a heartbeat.

My list of grievances is long. A few highlights include: you can’t order takeout past 10 p.m.; the cabdrivers get lost a lot; everyone works in politics; everyone asks, “Who do you work for?” When you tell people you’re a writer, they look confused and ask, “For who?”

Needless to say, I’ve been counting down the days until we can move somewhere else. That is, I was, until last fall, when everything changed.

For weeks leading up to the Nov. 6 election, I didn’t sleep. Each night, I watched hours of cable news coverage about the election, and when I finally turned off the TV, I’d lie awake and imagine what would happen if President Obama lost.

Photo

Credit Harry Campbell

Much of the time, sure, I worried about health care and women’s rights. I believed that this was an important election and that President Obama was the right person to lead our country. But, if I’m being honest, I was also worried about moving.

My husband works for the administration, and it was a strange thing to have his job and our future tied up in the election. Not only did I want President Obama to win, but I also didn’t want to pack up all of my possessions in boxes and be forced out of the city. At night, I’d list the reasons in my head why it wasn’t time to go yet: I’d finally found a dresser that fit in the guest room. We’d just finished unpacking our wedding presents. I’d already agreed to teach the spring semester at George Washington. A really good sandwich place had opened not too far from us.

If the election went one way, we’d stay put. If it went the other way, we (and all of our friends) would have a couple of months to pack up and leave. One night, I told Tim it would be like graduating from college. He pointed out it would be more like if your college was shut down sophomore year and they made everyone leave. “Good point,” I said. And then I turned off the light and stared at the ceiling until morning.

The last time I’d had insomnia like this was right before my first book came out. Tim was nervous too, but much more practical. “All I can do is work hard, vote and hope for the best,” he would say. Then he’d turn over and settle in for the night, as if he thought that was the end of it, as if I was going to let him sleep.

I talked about Nate Silver and Rachel Maddow as though they were my best friends. I had nightmares that involved Chuck Todd and Chris Matthews. Once I woke Tim up when I noticed that a crack in our ceiling looked like Tagg Romney. I was losing my mind.

“I know I complain about it here,” I said one night. “But I don’t want to go yet. I don’t want you to lose your job, I don’t want to have to leave before its time.”

“I know,” Tim said for the hundredth time. “But there’s nothing more we can do about it.”

And I realized that was the thing that was really bothering me — it wasn’t up to us. We didn’t have control over what was going to happen. Just like the Obamas, we were dependent on the voters, and that made me feel powerless and crazy.

The morning of the election, I got in a cab to head to the airport. The cabdriver asked me where I was going, and I told him Chicago, to meet up with my husband. “For the election?” he asked. I nodded and he turned around to face me. “Is he going to win?” he asked. “I’m so worried I couldn’t sleep last night.”

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I told him I didn’t sleep either and we smiled at each other with bags under our eyes. When he dropped me off at my terminal, we wished each other luck. “I think it will all turn out O.K.,” he said, and he shook my hand. When I relayed the story to Tim later that day, he smiled and said, “Only in D.C.” I realized I actually felt a fondness for this bizarre place where even the cabdrivers are political.

Now that it’s all over, now that the president has been sworn in and the crowds have left the city, I feel an enormous sense of relief. President Obama has won, Tim still has a job, and no more anchors from MSNBC disturb my dreams. Watching the president and first lady dance at the inaugural ball this week felt more like being at the wedding of dear friends than anything else. And I was proud — proud of the country, of the campaign workers, proud of my husband, and happy, above all, to be staying here just a little while longer.

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Townies, a series about life in New York — and occasionally other cities — written by the novelists, journalists and essayists who live there, appears on Thursdays. This week features an essay by Sandy SooHoo, a freelance photographer and writer who is working on a collection of essays.